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nimzv · 6 months

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You can all thank europebound11 (aka Lizy, aka FF user tsforever) for translating and bogolisk for finding it. So pretty much, I did nothing but bring it over here :)

Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir force people to talk about them. Of course, first and foremost because of their skating. Even before they battled for and won the silver medal at the 2008 World Championships, former Canadian figure skater Garossino had tears in his eyes after one of their skates. And legendary trainer Louis Strong praised them long before they won any major medals.

But their off ice reputation/relationship has a place in people's talk as well. At competitions, if you'll note, that if you need to get an interview with Virtue and Moir, then you will most definitely receive a smile. Even the face of the tired reporter will brighten up: you'll hear, “They are so amazing” and “Scott, he's something all right.”

After a personal interview, Virtue and Moir are a great pair. She is a classy beauty. She'd feel at home in a Jane Austen romance novel, and if she'd have to enter the real world, then she wouldn't even have to change her name. She would definitely be the extraordinary heroine. Moir, simultaneously, brings attention through his refreshing humor and is always sprinkling everyone with jokes. He reminds me of a young Steve Martin who upon an entrance always has a smile on.

This interview was taken at the World Championships in Los Angeles, the day after they won the bronze medal after a fierce competition. Backstage at the Staples Center soars the soul of competition, but they look relaxed, even refreshed. He's dressed in a bright turquoise shirt while she's in a popular red coat.

You have been skating together since 1997. This is a very long period for ice dance. “Yeahhhhhhh...,” stretched Moir, and Virtue added, “It really is a long time.” But they know that their experiences bring them strength. “You can see the great difficulties of the season that just ended for us,” says Moir, talking about Virtue's injury. “We had many obstacles that we needed to overcome, but we know how to work together excellently. We can pretty much take on anything. This is one of the greatest benefits of our lengthy partnership.” He glanced at Virtue, “And it's also great to have a younger, more mature sister, like Tessa. We're the best of friends and that really makes practice a lot of fun.”

It's sweet that you call Tessa your younger, but more mature sister. “She's younger only by age,” added Moir. Virtue smiled. “This is part comfort, that comes with experience, and part trust,” she says. “You have to trust your partner because you're skating – it's only the two of you together. You have to forget about everything else and plunge into the hard work. If we respect each other and trust each other, then that just makes everything a lot easier.”

Virtue and Moir are very fortunate to have found each other so early. It was fate that they were both born in London, Ontario, and were paired up in 1997 when he was 9 and she 7. Their rivals, Meryl Davis and Charlie White, can argue with them of the long partnership as they have a similar story. Currently, both pairs train with Igor Shpilband and Marina Zoueva in Canton, Michigan.

“I think they're together just as long as we have been,” says Virtue, of Davis and White. “Me and Chucky grew up together,” says Moir of White. “We've been skating together since Novices.”

Can you remember a moment when you were watching figure skating and you got goose bumps? Moir didn't even need time to consider his answer: “The 2002 Olympics in Salt Lake City. Sale and Pelletier's 'Love Story.' It was unquestioningly just that kind of moment,” says Moir. “I was watching it at home on tv, and I swear I said to myself, 'I want to be a figure skater. I want to go through this. I will train and do everything needed. I want to do what they did and inspire the people of Canada just like they did.”

Great answer!

Moir smiled, “Thank you, I prepared!” Everyone laughed. Virtue added, “I can say that right now, I'm going through a phase where I'm watching Patrick Chan's skating. He reincarnates skating skills. Gosh, I just melt! I just melt when he skates.” Moir agrees, “I think that everyone needs to melt when they see his skating. I'm glad he's not a dancer because he'd lure Tessa in in a second.”

Moir's cell phone going off reminds the interviewer that their time is limited. They often give interviews, so that's why they were immediately asked some not very serious questions.

What do you always have in your fridge? “Chocolate milk,” Virte immediately answered. Moir thought for a second, “Cheese sticks.”

Your fans were waiting to hear “fruits” or “distilled water.” Virtue's eyes widened at the horror and she merely shook her head. Moir said that he always takes Gatorade with him to the rink.

If your house were to catch on fire, what would be the one item you'd take with you? “An object?” asks Virtue. “Yes.” “Photo albums.”

Moir went into deep thought. “Probably my autographed jersey of Wendell Clark,” he said, referring to the best player of the Toronto Maple Leafs.

What's your favorite movie? Oh! That's hard!” said Moir. “It's constantly changing. Right now it's 'Blood Sport.'” This movie with Jean Claude Van Damme, came out when Moir was only a year old. “'Princess Bride,'” answered Virtue, choosing a film from the same period as Moir.

What's your favorite song? “Oh, I have so many!” said Scott, turning to Virtue for help. “Which would you say is my favorite song?” Before she got a chance to say anything, he straightened himself on his chair and gave a final answer, “AC/DC. 'Thunderstruck on Back in Black.' Best.” He turned to Virtue who suddenly seemed confused. “Hall and Oates?” she answered with a question. “I knew you'd say that!” exclaimed Scott.

Virtue explained her hesitation, “Every time I say that, I get laughed at.”

When it finally became apparent that around her were friends, she repeated her answer with more confidence, this time without a questioning tone, “Fine, so 'Hall and Oates.'” “I wanna tell you, you answered so doubtfully,” said Moir. “What kind of person told you: 'Gosh, how terrible!'?” In the same humorous manner, Virtue gave the name of the reporter and added, “She just pounced on me!”

And what is your favorite song from Hall and Oates? Moir started singing the chorus to “Private Eyes,” bringing a smile to Virtue's face. “Probably 'Private Eyes,'” she nodded. “You saw them live, right?” asked Moir. “Yes,” confirmed Virtue. “In London. My sister and I took our mom for her birthday. I think we were the only young people who were dancing.

What was the last book you read? “I just read The Pillars of the Earth,” said Tessa, referring to the historical piece by Ken Fillet (sorry, I'm bad at translating names when I don't know them!) It takes place in the tenth century, and the story revolves around a Cathedral in England. “I'm reading How Tiger Does It by Brad Kearns,” said Moir. This is a motivational book about Tiger Woods that delves into such topics as “How to enter the zone during competitions.”

Do you read many motivational books? “Mostly biographies,” says Moir.

And what can Tessa Virtue say about her book? “I can't decide,” says Virtue. “I was definitely entertained. I couldn't stop, just kept reading and reading, but at the same time, I didn't really like what the story was about, so that's why I have mixed feelings. But I think that was the joy of the book. I was definitely entertained.”

Your first concert? “N'Sync,” answered Virtue. “I think my first concert was Kim Mitchell,” says Moir. “Do you know Kim Mitchell? He's the singer of 'Patio Lanterns.'” This single from 1986 was in Mitchell's later album. “I think this is very Canadian,” added Moir. “It wasn't a big concert.

The conversation passed on to Youtube and the availability of music nowadays.

What do you search for on Youtube most of the time? “So you think you can dance,” Virute immediately answered. “Sometimes we do a lot of homework online,” said Moir, “we search for music for dances, and there's a lot of it on there.” As dancers, Virtue and Moir have to constantly find new moves and positions for their programs. This becomes harder and harder every year, so they look for inspiration from other phenomenons like “So you think you can dance?” “Gosh, the choreography was just incredible!” exclaims Virtue.

Who are your idols in figure skating? “When we were growing up, and transitioning from the junior level to the senior level, we learned a lot from older Canadian figure skaters, such as Jeff Buttle, Patrice Laizon and Marie Franz-Dubreill,” said Moir. “I don't know how to call them correctly: idols or mentors, but they definitely helped me learn to understand what to do in every given situation and when to be myself. These three truly helped us. And Jeff's win at the World Championships last year was just the icing on the cake. We miss him a lot.” Virtue agreed, “Jeff is always so inspiring, he really loves to perform. He's creative and he truly loves figure skating. And the art! I'm glad that we're very good friends.”

The conversation went on to the strength of the art in the sport, generally. In the morning, after practice for the free skate, Patrick Chan had an interesting opinion on the other forms of art involved in figure skating. A reporter asked him: if he could change something in figure skating, what would it be? He suggested that the judges approach ballet dancers and artists for scores on the artistic side of the sport. “This makes sense,” says Moir. “I think that many creative and artistic moments are very limited in our sport right now,” says Virtue. “The new system is great in many aspects, but it's just as destructive in this sense, and if we have many ideas and we want to execute them, then they have to be judged by other artists.” “I agree!” says Moir, “Yes!”

Transitioning to a more relaxed topic, can you describe any particular dreams you have? “I'm always either being arrested or shot at in my dreams,” says Moir. “I can't answer,” says Virtue. “I don't know if I have any interesting dreams that I remember that wouldn't be horrible or that wouldn't scare people.” Moir continued, “Almost every single one of my dreams ends in me being arrested, no matter where the dream is taking place...” This causes a bit of anxiety. Virtue compassionately nods.

All right, we'll go to a much more pleasant topic. What should your ideal night be like? Moir immediately switched gear. “For me, it's just being at home in London, in the backyard, cooking barbecue with my friends and family,” he said. “Yes, this is my favorite thing to do. Our free time is so limited, so when we have the opportunity, we just really like to enjoy moments like that. Yes, my ideal night consists of sitting in the backyard with the light from the setting sun and just spending time with my friends.” “I agree,” said Virtue. “We put all our time into hanging out with friends and family and really enjoying it. But, to be honest, my first thought was dance, so if I'm in a dance class or I'm just dancing, it's like I'm just in my own little world and I just feel really happy...”

This kind of vacation must seem really nice after Virtue underwent surgery to both legs. She had chronic exertional compartment syndrome that brought her great pain during practice. Her muscles couldn't expand so the doctors had to cut into her tissue to allow them to do so. She's on the road to recovery, but can still feel discomfort from time to time, which is why she doesn't spend much time in dance clubs. “Sometimes, it's just nice to have a dance night in your PJs,” she states firmly. The return of Virtue and Moir got a great response from Liz Manley at this World Champinoship. “This is just incredible,” she said after their free dance. “Nobody skates with the heart. Watching them really warms your heart.” Manley likes them not only on the ice. “They're just like adorable dolls!” she said. “You can just walk over to them and talk to them easily. They're very down to Earth.”

It's time for the last question: What are your best memories on the ice? "I don't think that for me it's anything related to the elements of the skate," says Virtue. "I can't say about a specific moment, but I think we've had many moments when I just stopped and though, 'My God, how good is it all, that I can share this with Scott! How lucky we really are that we're friends and that we have all these opportunities.' He constantly makes me laugh, I think that particularly these moments in practice are the ones I'll always remember, and I'll keep them to myself/treasure them. Not the moments when we receive awards or our performances."

Moir nodded. "My favorite moment is related to/associated with the last week before the end of the year (season), before the last competition; the programs are already ready and perfected to the level when you can give it your all and perform the program the way it should be performed. It's just a crazy feeling. You feel this at competitions and it's great, but when it happens at home, then the feeling is special/spectacular. You think, 'This is great!' That is definitely something you want to save and treasure."

But many figure skating fanatics predicted different variations of answers: for example, their FD to Umbrellas of Cherbourg at the World Championship in 2008. "That was something really special," confirmed Virtue, "that was really something." "That was amazing," adds Moir. The two wowed the public of Goteburg, taking first place in the free dance with their breath-taking performance under the music of Michael Legran (sorry, idk how to translate the name into English...the composer of UoC). That finally secured their spot on the international arena.

"That was something special," says Virtue, "but I think people don't think about the greatness of special moments that happen to us at home, when the program can look even better, and that is an even more special moment, because only the two of us, alone, are experiencing it. After, going and performing the program to the public - this is also huge, but there are a lot more of these moments at home."

#vm interview #vm article #2009 #2008 #saucy2019/10/07

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lifeanddeathsscenarios · 8 years

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A Sprinkle of Salt

Anon requested: hey hi! could you do a youngbin scenario where their gf is really good friends with hwi young and chani, and he gets a little jealous

Sorry for the delay! I hope you enjoy this!

Summary: Youngbin may be kind and understanding but there’s only so much he can take.

Hanging out with the members of Sensational Feeling 9 was always a blast, although they would always grimace when you jokingly said the full name in English.

“It’s not funny,” Hwiyoung gave you a judging look.

“Yeah, that’s the name of our group. The group your boyfriend is in,” the team’s maknae stuck his tongue out at you.

“I was just joking around!” You frowned and put your fists up. “Fight me!”

Chani could only laugh and grab your hands before trapping you in a hug. “Can’t fight me if you can’t use your hands!”

“HEY!” You could only shout as you struggled from the boy’s anaconda-like hug. “YAH! LET ME GO!”

“Oh? You wanted to fight me, but can’t even escape my hug? I would’ve won then.”

After squirming until your right hand was free and pinching his side, you were free and glaring at the black-haired boy. “Do that again and I swear-!”

“We’re all friends here, no need to fight you two,” Hwiyoung declared as he came between the two of you and draped his arms around you and Chani’s shoulders. “Come on, let’s go back to the practice room. Our hyungs are probably worried sick.”

“From what? All we did was go get them some food from the convinience store.” Chani rolled his eyes. “Besides, they aren’t worried about us, they’re worried about Y/N. They’re probably thinking we drove her insane.”

Shoving the ‘99 liner’s arm off your shoulder, you turned to stick your tongue out at them. “You guys are driving me insane! I wouldn’t have to come with you if you didn’t make me lose that rock-paper-scissors game!”

“Oh?” The maknae suddenly pointed at you, “She is going insane. Insane enough to make false acusations of us cheating!”

“YAH! Your leader, my boyfriend, even told me you two did!”

“Ever think he was lying?” Hwiyoung put in.

Before you knew it, they were racing to get to the safety of the entertainment building (where the older members would try to protect the maknaes and calm you down).

“YAH! GET BACK HERE!” you yelled as you chased them down, them looking over their shoulders and laughing because you were so far from them.

You slowed to a stop as you heard your phone ring and answered your phone. “Yes?” you said, trying to hide your hard breathing.

“Where are you guys? Are you okay? They didn’t ditch you did they?” the voice that made your heart flutter asked through the phone.

“We’re right outside, I’m okay, and they did ditch me. I think they’re already in front of the practice room,” you sighed as you entered the building. “I’m in the building now, I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Okay… Hurry, I miss you.”

You could only laugh as you answered, “I’ll be right up, no need to be over-dramatic.”

“I’m not being over-dramatic, it’s the truth.” That answer made your face red as you bowed to the lady at the front desk.

“You’re way too honest…” you sighed as you entered the elevator.

“My seniors taught me to be this way. Are you here yet? Not being able to see your face but able to hear your voice makes my heart hurt.”

“You’re so cliché!”

He laughed through the phone as the elevator let out a ‘ding’ to indicate your stop. The practice room door was open to let the air out but you scrunched your nose at the smell of the combined 9 boys testosterone.

“Hang up now!” you laughed when your boyfriend’s face immediately lit up at the sight of you and hung up. He got up from his spot on one of their chairs and headed towards you, arms wide open and ready to give you a hug. However, 6 other boys saw the plastic bags you carried in your other hand and immediately surrounded you.

While they fought over the food in the bag and obscured your view of your boyfriend, you could hear him slightly scolding the maknaes about ditching you.

‘Good. They deserve that,’ you thought as you smiled to yourself before swatting the boy’s hands away. “Yah, sit down and I’ll give you guys your food. Seriously, you guys act like this all the time…”

After all 9 boys had seated themselves in their circle, you handed them their requested food. They immediately said their thanks and started digging in before you could even start to go to your spot and sit.

You sat between the eldest members, Inseong on your left and Youngbin on your right. As you started to eat what you had bought yourself, you felt the boy on your right shift closer to you. Your cheeks warmed as the leader wrapped his arms around you and gave a light peck on your cheek.

“Great, now I lost my appetite,” Hwiyoung said, passing his food over to Chani, who shook his head and pointed to Dawon.

Chani had followed after him and pushed his plate to the 95 liner as well. “Same. I can’t believe they would do this kind of stuff while we’re trying to eat…” he said as he and Hwiyoung got up.

In anger, you grabbed the nearest thing and chucked it at them.

Inseong yelled, “Hey! My chopsticks!” But it was too late. One stick hit Hwiyoung’s arm and the other hit Chani in the back.

They both turned around and stuck their tongue out at you.

“WHY YOU-!”

The other 7 boys immediately forgot about their lunches.

“Then you’re playing the game wrong!” you said, pushing a finger into Hwiyoung’s chest. “Do you even watch gameplays?”

He laughed and pinched your cheek, making you frown and swat him away. “It’s more fun when everything is unexpected.”

“Well, that’s why you always lose.”

“Oh, I don’t always lose. I won every time I played against Chani.”

“Hey!”

You laughed as you watched them argue again. The boys had finished their practice a while ago, but the vocal line went into their respective studios for vocal practice while Zuho went to finish writing raps for their upcoming songs. The dance practice room was left with just the maknaes, you, and your boyfriend. You glanced over at the leader, who was sat on the floor on the opposite wall of you. A frown settled on your face as you saw his expression.

Youngbin was frowning. That certainly wasn’t a good sign. He wasn’t one to get upset, even after Dawon did something as idiotic as almost expose your relationship with the leader on live broadcast. He was kind and understanding but then again, there’s only so much he can take.

“What’s wrong?” You sat next to him and his frown grew deeper. “What’s with the grumpy face, Mr. Grumpy Face?”

“It’s Sir Grumpy Face,” he grumbled, still able to make lame jokes even in a bad mood.

“Okay, Sir Grumpy Face. Why do you look so down? Did Dawon do something stupid again? I can beat him up for you, if you want.”

“No, it’s the maknaes.”

“Chani, Hwiyoung, and Tae? What did they do? Eat a lot of chicken?” you joked, but your laugh diminished as you saw how serious he was being. “Or is it just Chani and Hwiyoung? What did those two do?”

“They just look so happy…” he trailed off, not looking at you.

Okay, now you were seriously confused. “Um… Is that a bad thing? Should they be sad?”

“No, but you seem happy too. With them. You guys look happy together," he finally said, leaning his head against the wall and closing his eyes. “I know that sounds stupid and that I shouldn’t be jealous because they were your friends before you and I started dating but I still can’t shake this feeling…”

“You’re jealous?” you couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh my, you’re seriously jealous?”

He groaned, hiding his red face with his hands. “I know it’s stupid.”

“Youngbin,” you said, pulling his hands away from covering his handsome looks and searching his face. “Please look at me…”

Hesitantly, he turned to look at you with sad eyes.

You sighed and squeezed his hands with your own, giving him a small smile. “Chani and Youngbin are my friends. They’re your members. They’re both like our sons, honestly. You know how Tablo has Haru? That’s how I see my relationship with them. There’s nothing more to it.”

“I wouldn’t want them to be our sons, honestly. They ditched you, how could they do that to their own mother?” he said in mock anger, making you laugh.

You released his left hand to rest your hand on his left cheek. “I never really say this much, and it might be the reason you felt like this but, I love you.”

At those three words, his eyes widened and his mouth dropped. “Really? You’re sure?”

You rolled your eyes. “If I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t have said it.

He leaned over to squeeze you into a hug, burying his nose into your neck. “I love you too. I love you so much.”

“You’re not jealous any more right?”

“How could I be when you just told me that you love me?” he pulled away and searched your face.

You looked at him, confused. “What?”

He smiled and leaned forward to press his lips against yours. His fingers resting on your back drawing circles that made you sigh and lean forward for more. He pulled you forward and you felt like you were melting into his as you two grew closer. You wanted the moment to last forever, however, certain maknaes know just exactly what to say to get on your nerves.

“Are they gonna keep doing pda until I lose sleep from nightmares?” the voice said, making you pull away and glare at whoever spoke.

Youngbin laughed as he watched Chani run out from the room, you right at his tail.

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jungk0oksthighs · 2 years

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Hi💜 so I’m a new writer that’s just starting out, I was wondering if you had any tips? Also I love your work sm💜💜

this is so sweet! thank u so much angel, writing is different for everybody but i'm happy to share some of my views and tricks etc! probably going to ramble a lot so i'll add a read more tab ~

every fic needs a beginning middle n an end, so i would plan these before you start writing it so you know where the story is heading and have a clear guideline of what you need to follow

make notes of random plot / sub-plot points you want to include and keep referring to the list when you're writing! this is really helpful for me

not every character needs a trauma or a problematic opinion, tension is great in fics i 100% agree but it needs to be relevant to the overall story telling and shouldn't be random (especially with angst, writing arguments is great but make sure the characters will think back to the arguments be it to learn from it or for more tension further down the line etc)

don't get disheartened if somebody doesn't like something you've written - it happens to all of us / take negative feedback with a pinch of salt! feedback is feedback and it can be a wonderful tool to improve ur skills but don't get hung up on people's opinions too much

write what YOU want to write. as long as ur passionate about the characters / storylines etc the right demographic will find u eventually

TAGS TAGS TAGS TAG EVERYTHING ITS HOW PPL FIND UR WORK!!!

there are networks u can join too!!

don't overwork yourself. write however much you can when YOU want to!!

have fun with it. get creative. make worlds that leave readers wanting more! if u have a vision in your head for what you want to write stick with it and don't let anybody sway you into telling a different story!

don't fixate on notes / lack of feedback. it can be disheartening but i assure you a persons number of notes / followers do not directly influence their talent. some of the best writers on here have less than 500 followers and get barely any notes (which is sad, i agree :( but try not to let numbers affect how you feel about your work) also block hate anons because fuck them and their venom, not worth your time at all!

don't compare yourself to others. everybody starts somewhere!!!

write things you're passionate about, things you have experience in or things you want to spread awareness about

if you're going to be a ff writer even though readers *know* who you're writing about don't skip over their physical descriptions as they're still an important part of ff!

when it comes to plot planning try and think of niche or never seen before plots! we all love a good friends to lovers trope but make yours stand out. everybody is writing something similar these days in terms of tropes and au's so add a sprinkle of ***flavour*** to yours that makes it stand out and more memorable to readers

but MOST IMPORTANTLY!!!! remember that your blog is yours and you can do and you can write whatever you want to! the world is yours so show it what you've got. for me writing ff is a coping mechanism and also high-key a form of escapism, if you get stressed writing then don't force it honey. you should enjoy writing and if there's ever a point where you don't then you need to take a break. this is ur blog. these are ur fics. don't let anybody tell u any differently.

GOOD LUCK!!!!!!! I HOPE IVE KINDA HELPED SORRY JUST WENT ON A BIG RAMBLE LOL. IF U WANT MORE SPECIFIC ADVICE PLEASE FEEL FREE TO ASK IM ALWAYS HAPPY TO HELP!!!!

sending u so much love and positive energy cause i remember how nervous i was when i first started out!!! you've got this, show us what you're made of!!

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sailtoafarawayland · 3 years

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Living a Life (1/2)

Summary: Sometimes the things we see ourselves in most clearly aren’t made from glass, and sometimes death is not the ending we think it is, but a pause of breath that gives life to a new beginning.

Rating: T for now

AO3 - FF

Chapter 1

Emma didn't really know why she did it, why she stopped at all.

The sidewalks were an icy mess, like the city didn't even care that they were staring a lawsuit in the face, and the clean, shoveled pathway through the cemetery was just too tempting to pass up. She was exhausted after a day spent at the precinct with her latest collar – some sort of mix up with the payment, or the filing, or whatever nonsense it was this time – and she just wanted to get home.

She didn't like the thought of using the cemetery as a shortcut, but the thought of being out of work for two weeks while she recovered from a sprained ankle was even worse.

Maybe it was because she walked past so many other gravestones that had been recently dusted of snow, the past few days of New England weather not accumulating on top of them, brushed away by the hands of loved ones. Maybe it was because she saw the wreaths leftover from Christmas dotting the quiet cemetery, bright orbs of red peeking through snow sprinkled like icing sugar across them.

But she stopped in front of a gravestone that seemed lonelier than the rest, slightly removed from the path and resting beneath one of the many bare trees, days of hardened snow and ice frozen to its surface.

Looking at it – neglected, ignored – she wondered if that's what her grave would look like when she died.

She should probably get cremated.

She should probably just leave. She had no business here, staring at some stranger's grave like the person lying below it cared about anything – cared that no one had stopped to sweep off the snow, but she didn't.

Instead, she stepped off the clean, salted path and crunched through layers of icy snow, deeper than she had thought. She could feel it crumbling over the tops of her low boots, icy pebbles melting and trickling down her heel. Well, she was stuck for it now.

She crouched down in front of the gravestone, and raising one gloved hand, she began brushing the frozen chunks of snow from its shoulders. Removing the dusting of windblown ice from the engraved front proved to be more work than she had anticipated, but after a few minutes she had most of it cleared, the rest would just have to melt on its own. Her hard work rewarded, she finally took the time to read the face of the stone.

She hadn't been to any funerals in her life, but she knew enough that the brevity of what she saw surprised her.

Liam Jones, 1977 – 2011

Her breath left her body, a chill wind stirring her hair and leaving her feeling somehow exposed, like she was doing something she shouldn't be - peering through the window of someone’s life only to find it was an empty house, abandoned. She had expected an old gravestone, someone with no family left to come sit by them and wipe away the snow.

She hadn't been expecting this.

He was young, not much older than her, and since it was only February, it hadn't even been that long since he'd passed. She glanced at the frozen ground she was squatting above and moved hastily to the side, wondering if there was some kind of graveyard etiquette. There must be. Don't stand in front of the graves where people are...resting, she guessed. She wasn't really sure. She'd never had a family, a grave to visit.

She probably should be thankful for that, less heartache.

Snow removed, job done, she stuck her hand back in her pocket and headed down the path. She wouldn't be back again. He wasn't her family, whoever she was, and she wanted to leave the nagging fear that one day that might be her in the cemetery where it belonged.

Weeks passed and she told herself when she headed down the cemetery path again that it was because another big storm had just blown through Boston, and for some reason known only to the city, they never cleared or salted the sidewalks in this neighborhood.

But she didn't try to stop herself when she reached his grave again, this time the name Liam Jones clearly visible, a thick blanket of fresh snow cushioning the top. She walked between the first row of graves and to the side of his, taking care not to step where she assumes he's buried. It seemed like the right way to go about it, even if there aren't any rules. She probably should've googled it, but she hadn't planned on coming back.

She really hadn't.

Instead of questioning it too much, she brushed the snow away with her sleeve and tossed a few stray, fallen twigs back to the ground. It wasn't until after she'd thrown them that she thought to make sure she hadn't dropped them onto another resting place – littering on dead people was most definitely poor graveyard etiquette.

When she stopped in spring, she told herself it was just to enjoy the blossoms on the cherry trees that blanket that portion of the cemetery, knowing it was a lie. She knew because she'd bothered to look up cemetery etiquette online, and yes, it was a thing. She was also mildly curious to see if anyone had been to visit him now that the weather was nicer, if she would even be able to tell.

There were a few graves she'd passed that had small flowers gracing their shoulders, and others with ornate vases built into the stone, colorful blooms filling them. She brushed a scattering of cherry blossoms from the top of Liam's grave and wondered again at the emptiness of it. He must not have had anyone, because if he had, surely they would have written something other than just the year of his birth and death.

Was he a father, a brother? Was he a son? Was he alone, as she was?

“Who were you?” she asked, but no one answered.

The next time she passed through, the cherry trees had long since lost their blooms, and she swept the sickly sweet smelling remains of them from his grave, bending down to tug out the stray clumps of tall grass where the granite sat, immovable. It seemed pretty obvious no one else was visiting, and that not even the groundskeeper had enough hours in the day to really keep everything neat.

They'd had enough dry days that she didn't have to crouch to visit, and found herself sitting back onto the grass between his gravestone and the next.

“Is this...weird?” she asked, glancing around to make sure no one was listening to her talk to a dead person she didn't even know. “I'm sorry no one comes here but me.”

Suddenly she felt self-conscious, the whole situation settling heavily around her, the overpowering perfume of dying flowers clinging to her skin. What the hell was wrong with her that the only connection she'd allow herself was with some stranger's gravestone? Angry with herself, she jumped up and hurried back down the path towards home. She was out of the cemetery and an entire block away when she finally remembered the daisies in her bag. Reaching in, she brushed the crumpled edges of the petals and sighed.

There was another visitor a few graves down when she returned, but they clearly knew enough to not eyeball her or say anything when she walked back over to Liam's grave – mildly flustered – and gently placed the rumpled cluster of flowers on the ledge in front of his name. She brushed her hands roughly on her leather sleeves and left as quickly as she came.

The next time it was a lot easier to talk to him, even if she knew he wasn't listening, and he certainly couldn't talk back. The daisies hadn't lasted very long, so she tossed them and said she'd bring more next time, although she realized she may need to leave something other than flowers. Work had been slow lately, and she wasn't stopping at the precinct all that often to drop off skips – and she couldn't just make a special trip once a week to refresh his flowers.

That would be crazy.

She didn't even know him.

So when her fingers ran across the smooth ridges of the seashell on her windowsill at home, she put it in her pocket.

Spring faded into the suffocating heat of summer, the grass parched and brittle beneath her feet as she crouched next to Liam's grave, brushing away the small ant hills that had formed in the sandy soil with a vengeance she didn't know she had in her for the tiny creatures.

“You know,” she said, and the words hurt before they even left her mouth, “you might be the only person I've got to talk to. How pathetic is that?”

She worked around the back of the grave, tugging up stray weeds she'd missed the last time.

“I brought you something other than flowers. Maybe you weren't even a flower guy, when you were around. I'm not much of a flower girl, I don't think. I've never really had anyone to buy them for me though. There was Neal...but he...well, let's just say he didn't leave me with any good memories, let alone flowers. Is there anyone who has good memories of you? I wish I knew some. It would be nice to know who you were, not just sit here guessing.”

The cemetery was empty, and that's when Emma felt most at ease, most like she could just say what was on her mind without having to worry about anyone listening, or whether they think she's crazy.

She laid the scraggly bunch of weeds at the side of the grave, reminding herself to take it out to the trash can when she leaves.

“Here,” she shrugged, pulling the seashell from her pocket and placing it on the ledge where she last left flowers.

It was a spiral shell, small, but perfect and white with a soft, amber colored center.

“I don't know if you really like seashells either, but...I picked that up a few years ago down at the beach. In the summer, it's always full of families and couples, so I don't go much, but sometimes when it's a little grey and stormy...it's just the most peaceful place to sit and think.”

She didn't say the rest of what she was thinking aloud – that seeing the happy couples and the parents with their kids just made her stomach clench, that all she could think of was how that was never something her mom wanted to go with her.

– was never something she got the chance to do.

That feels like too much to unload, even on a dead guy.

“It's pretty peaceful here too,” she sighed.

Summer relented and fall crept into the city, the once green leaves crisping and drifting to the ground. Despite getting a payday, she was leaving the precinct in a pretty shitty mood. Her skip had almost given her the slip, and she was going to be nursing a bruised shoulder from where she tumbled in an alley trying to keep up with him. By the time she stepped through the archway of the cemetery, the sun had already set, the streetlamps casting cold halos across the damp ground. She heard them before she saw them, and it took her a few seconds to realize they'd gathered just off the path next to Liam's grave.

“Hey!” she snapped, immediately angered by what she was seeing. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Christ, relax, lady,” one of the kids drawled, taking a swig from his beer and clinking it against the gravestone next to Liam's.

Emma didn't know who it belonged to, but it was always well cared for, and she was furious. There were four kids, teenagers, and they'd stomped all over the damp ground in front of the graves, clearly not caring that they were drinking and walking all over someone's remains.

“Look, kid, you and your buddies have about ten seconds to take your crap and get the hell out of here. I just left the precinct, and I've got Chief Humbert on speed dial – ” They didn't need to know how untrue that was, that, in fact, the guy gave her the creeps “ – so I suggest you take your party somewhere else.”

A few eye rolls and snarky comments later and they'd cleared out, leaving Emma feeling both pleased and worried for herself. She plopped down next to Liam's grave, wincing as her palm hit a piece of broken glass.

“Little shits,” she hissed, pulling the chunk of glass from her hand and setting it aside. It was too dark to find all the pieces. “What the hell am I doing?”

She leaned forward and straightened the seashell that was still resting on the stone, glad it had survived Boston's vagrant youths for this long. Wet leaves stuck to the front and sides of the grave, and she pulled off a few that hid his name.

“That's going to be me one day,” she muttered, eyeing the paltry engraving once more. “Emma Swan, time stamp. I'll be lucky if anyone comes to chase delinquents away from my grave.”

Everything was wet and cold, the smell of decomposing leaves rich in the air, and while fall made most people think of pumpkins and Thanksgiving, warm cups of coffee on cold walks – right now she could only think about how dark and cold and oppressively heavy it must be six feet under.

The next time she visited, she left a little fist-sized pumpkin she'd picked up at the bodega. She'd thought about carving it, what with Halloween around the corner, but that was never something she'd done before, and if she messed it up, she'd have nothing.

It didn't take long for the pumpkin to turn into a Thanksgiving feast for the city's squirrels, barely more than a rind left behind like something someone had tossed into the garbage, and she felt bad. She should have come back sooner.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, removing the half-frozen leftovers and pulling the few stray weeds with enough gumption to grow in later November. “Looks like you had quite a bit of furry company while I was gone. If I were a normal person, I'd be home sharing a Thanksgiving meal with my family, or friends – but I don't have either of those, so here I am, talking to you. Happy Thanksgiving, Liam.”

It wasn't long after the first snow hit Boston, and Emma was reminded of that first time she visited the cemetery and wondered who Liam Jones had been, why no one stopped to visit his grave. She could have googled him, but if she was being honest with herself – which she was really trying to be better about these days – she didn't really want to know if he had family that couldn't be bothered to visit. If she didn't know, she couldn't be angry with them for no reason, since she had no right to be.

She didn't know Liam Jones.

She had no right to bear a grudge for him.

As Christmas approached, Emma saw more people visiting, sometimes with family, and other times alone, leaving little battery powered tea lights and wreaths to warm the cold stone. When she saw the bouquet of poinsettias at the bodega, she didn't feel the least bit strange as she placed it on the counter. There aren't any Christmas decorations in her apartment, but she felt like Liam should have something to show that at least one person was thinking about him on the first Christmas he was missing.

The air was bitter and cold as she made the trek though from her neighborhood to the cemetery, but she didn't mind. When she reached Liam's grave, there was a soft blanket of fresh snow atop it, and she brushed it gently to the ground.

“You know, I really should thank you,” she said quietly, glad for the peace and solitude that hung around her. It made it easier to say the words. “I felt like maybe I was doing something nice for you, remembering you in the way I would want someone to think about me, just so that I wasn't completely forgotten, but I feel like coming here...shit, it'll be a year in a couple months. I think I figured something out. I don't want to be alone, Liam. I know I can't guarantee that I won't be alone one day in the ground, with no one left to care, but...I don't want to feel that way now. I've always kept people at a distance, too afraid to get hurt again, but I'm tired of being alone. I want a life, I want to live it...”

There was no answer, but she hadn't been expecting one.

Instead she leaned down and brushed the snow off the little ledge that still held her seashell, frozen to the stone, and gently placed the poinsettias beside it. She reached out and traced her finger along the carved edge of his name before turning to leave, glancing up at the blue sky between the bare branches of the cherry tree.

“If you're, uh, listening anywhere, well, thanks for everything, Liam. Merry Christmas.”

~ * ~ * ~

When Killian woke, it felt like he was being dragged from the bottom of the sea, every force on earth weighing him down still not enough to keep his blissful, dark peace from being disturbed.

Once the light hit him, it wasn't like in the movies. He didn't wake up groggy, or wondering where he was, confused about the machines beeping around him and the tubes connected to his body.

No, he knew exactly where he was and what led him here, and he wanted nothing more than to sink back down to that darkness that was so complete and starving it devoured every thought before he could think it. He wanted to close his eyes and fall back into that oblivion that had been his only respite from the flashes of memory, the pull of voices.

He didn't want to have to remember the sound that steel makes when it cracks and groans, the way the dock shook beneath their feet as the freighter slid into the crane, the sheer force of it toppling the massive tower of heavy steel as easily as if it were nothing more than a house of cards. He wanted to forget running for his brother, watching the mass of cables and metal come down over them – screaming, screaming his name and trying to reach him, unable to move, unable to breathe...

“Can you hear me? My name is Dr. Whale.”

The voice was leaning over him, his mouth moving, more words floating around him. Killian didn't understand why they wouldn't just leave him alone – he tried to roll onto his side, ignoring the the objections from the doctor, and that's when he felt it – a pain that burned up his arm and into his brain, as if his hand had been crushed by his movement. He jerked his arm, trying to understand what he'd done, why it hurt so badly – and then he saw it.

The bandages, the stump, the strangely shortened arm that most definitely used to have a hand at the end of it – except now there was nothing, and it couldn't possibly be his arm he was looking at, his hand that was missing, because he could feel it. The agony was so real it eclipsed everything else – the pain in his ribs and elsewhere vanishing as he thrashed and tore out lines and catheters.

There were hands on him, holding him – voices shouting, someone screaming. He was screaming, but it was so far away, a sea of darkness rising between him and the place where his hand wasn't, cradling and dragging him back down to that deep oblivion where there was nothing.

Nothing at all.

Tagging: @justanother-unluckysoul @kmom0f4 @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight @tiganasummertree @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @alexa-fangirl-forever @alifeofdreams @superchocovian @donteattheappleshook @hollyethecurious @caught-in-the-filter @snowbellewells @itsfabianadocarmo

#Captain Swan #CS fic #cs fanfic #emma and hook #sailtoafarawayland #living a life

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kingjasnah · 4 years

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Is there the full list of brandersons favourite games reposted somewhere?

i dont think so? or not that ive seen. u can literally just sign up for the newsletter on his website but screw it ill just post them for u. it sure was a TRIP scrolling past these to get to the interlude though. undertale is on this list.....im shakign at the thought that adolin was based off ff10 tidus but i cant get it out of my head now

#10: Katamari Damaci

I love things that make me look at the world in a new way. Katamari did this in spades. It is an imaginative, bizarre vision with unique gameplay. It is like nothing else in the world and I love it for all its strangeness and occasional lack of gameplay polish.

I was transfixed the first time I played it, and have looked forward to it being remade and rereleased on multiple different consoles. I love the cute—and somehow creepy at the same time—storyline. It feels like a fever dream more than a game sometimes, and is probably the closest I’ll ever get to understanding what it’s like to do drugs.

#9: Undertale

This is an oddball on this list because I think it’s the only game that is not a franchise from a major studio—but is instead an indie game, which I believe was originally funded on Kickstarter.I loved how this felt like a novel as much as a game. It was one person’s vision; a single story told really well, with a huge amount of personality. The humor was just my kind of wonderful/terrible, and I was instantly enamored with the characters.That probably would have been enough, but it is a nice deconstruction of video games as a medium—and has not one, but multiple innovative gameplay mechanics. Together, the package left me enamored. This is a work of genius that I feel everyone should at least try, even if it ends up not being for them.

#8: Fallout: New Vegas

I have played all of the core Fallout games, and I was one of the (it seems few) who was really excited when it moved from turn-based tactics to first-person shooter. While Fallout 3 was good, it didn’t have the charm of the first two.New Vegas delivered on everything I was hoping to see. The charm was back, the writing sharp, the quests imaginative. The gameplay was engaging and branched in a variety of directions, the gunplay was solid, and the atmosphere immersive. I of course love the first two games in the series—but New Vegas combines everything I like in gaming into one package. (As a note, I own the Outer Worlds, and am looking forward to digging into it. Consider this item on the list a recommendation of other Obsidian games—like Knights of the Old Republic Two—regardless of genre, as I’ve found them universally to be superior to their contemporaries.)

#7 Super Mario World

When I was eleven, I flew (alone, which was very exciting to me) from Nebraska to visit my uncle Devon in Salt Lake City. Before I left, my father gave me $200 and told me to pay for my own meals while on the trip—but of course, my uncle didn’t allow this. At the end of the trip, I tried to give him the money, which he wouldn’t take.I mentioned my dad would take the money back when I got home, but that was okay. Well, my uncle would have none of that, and drove me to the local mall and made me spend it on a Nintendo Entertainment System. (This uncle, you might guess, is an awesome human being.)Since that day of first plugging it in and experiencing Mario for the first time, I was hooked. This is the only platformer on the list, as I don’t love those. But one makes an exception for Mario. There’s just so much polish, so much elegance to the control schemes, that even a guy who prefers an FPS or an RPG like me has to admit these are great games. I picked World as my favorite as it’s the one I’ve gone back to and played the most.

#7: The Curse of Monkey Island (Monkey Island 3)

I kind of miss the golden age of adventure gaming, and I don’t know that anyone ever got it as right as they did with this game. It is the pinnacle of the genre, in my opinion—no offense to Grim Fandango fans.This game came out right before gaming’s awkward teenage phase where everything moved to 3-d polygons. For a while after, games looked pretty bad, though they could do more because of the swap. But if you want to go see what life was like before that change, play Monkey Island 3. Composed of beautiful art pieces that look like cells from Disney movies, with streamlined controls (the genre had come a long way from “Get yon torch”) and fantastic voice acting, this game still plays really well.This is one of the few games I’ve been able to get my non-gamer wife to play through with me, and it worked really well as a co-op game with the two of us trying to talk through problems. It’s a lovingly crafted time capsule of a previous era of gaming, and if you missed it, it’s really worth trying all these years later. (The first and second games hold up surprisingly well too, as a note, particularly with the redone art that came out a decade or so ago.)Also, again, this one has my kind of humor.

#6: Breath of the Wild

I never thought a Zelda game would unseat A Link to the Past as my favorite Zelda, but Breath of the Wild managed it. It combined the magic of classic gameplay with modern design aesthetic, and I loved this game.There’s not a lot to say about it that others haven’t said before, but I particularly liked how it took the elements of the previous games in the series (giving you specific tools to beat specific challenges) and let you have them all at once. I like how the dungeons became little mini puzzles to beat, instead of (sometimes seemingly endless) slogs to get through. I liked the exploration, the fluidity of the controls, and the use of a non-linear narrative in flashbacks. It’s worth buying a Switch just to play this one and Mario—but in case you want, you can also play Dark Souls on Switch... (That’s foreshadowing.)

#5: Halo 2

Telling stories about Halo Two on stream is what made me think of writing this list.I’m sometimes surprised that this game isn’t talked about as much as I think it should be. Granted, the franchise is very popular—but people tend to love either Reach or games 1 or 3 more than two. Two, however, is the only one I ever wanted to replay—and I’ve done so three or four times at this point. (It’s also the only one I ever beat on Legendary.)It’s made me think on why I love this one, while so many others seem to just consider it one of many in a strong—but in many ways unexceptional—series of games. I think part of this is because I focus primarily on the single-player aspects of a game (which is why there aren’t any MMOs on this list.) Others prefer Halo games with more balanced/polished multiplayer. But I like to game by myself, and don’t really look for a multiplayer experience. (Though this is changing as I game with my sons more and more.)I really like good writing—which I suppose you’d expect. But in games, I specifically prefer writing that enhances the style of game I’m playing. Just dumping a bunch of story on me isn’t enough; it has to be suited to the gameplay and the feel of the game. In that context, I’ve rarely encountered writing as good as Halo 2. From the opening—with the intercutting and juxtaposition of the two narratives—to the quotes barked out by the marines, the writing in this game is great. It stands out starkly against other Halo games, to the point that I wonder what the difference is.Yes, Halo Two is a bombastic hero fantasy about a super soldier stomping aliens. But it has subtle, yet powerful worldbuilding sprinkled all through it—and the music...it does things with the story that I envy. It’s kind of cheating that games and films get to have powerful scores to help with mood.The guns in Two feel so much better than Halo One, and the vehicles drive far better. The only complaint I have is that it’s only half a story—as in, Halo 2 and 3 seem like they were one game broken in two pieces. And while 3 is good (and Reach does something different, which I approve of in general) neither did it for me the way Two did, and continues to do.

#3: Final Fantasy X

You probably knew Final Fantasy was coming. People often ask if the way these games handle magic was an influence upon me. All I can say is that I’ve played them since the first one, and so they’re bound to have had an influence.On one hand, these games are really strange. I mean, I don’t think we gamers stop quite often enough to note how downright bizarre this series gets. Final Fantasy doesn’t always make the most sense—but the games are always ambitious.Ten is my favorite for a couple of reasons. I felt like the worldbuilding was among the strongest, and I really connected with the characters. That’s strange, because this is one of the FF games without an angst-filled teen as the protagonist. Instead, it has a kind of stable happy-go-lucky jock as the protagonist.But that’s what I needed, right then. A game that didn’t give me the same old protagonist, but instead gave me someone new and showed me I could bond to them just as well. Ten was the first with full voice acting, and that jump added a lot for me. It has my favorite music of the series, and all together is what I consider the perfect final fantasy game. (Though admittedly, I find it more and more difficult to get into turn-based battle mechanics as I grow older.)

#2: Bloodborne

Those who follow my streams, or who read other interviews I’ve done, probably expected this series to be at or near the top. The question wasn’t whether Souls would be here, but which one to pick as my favorite.I went with Bloodborne, though it could have been any of them. (Even Dark Souls 2—which I really like, despite its reputation in the fandom.) I’ve been following FromSoftware’s games since the King’s Field games, and Demon’s Souls was a huge triumph—with the director Hidetaka Miyazaki deserving much of the praise for its design, and Dark Souls (which is really just a more polished version of Demon’s Souls).As I am a fan of cosmic horror, Bloodborne is probably my favorite overall. It really hit the mix of cosmic and gothic horror perfectly. It forced me to change up my gameplay from the other Souls games, and I loved the beautiful visuals.I am a fan of hard games—but I like hard games that are what I consider “fair.” (For example, I don’t love those impossible fan-made Mario levels, or many of the super-crazy “bullet hell”-style games.) Dark Souls is a different kind of hard. Difficult like a stern instructor, expecting you to learn—but giving you the tools to do so. It presents a challenge, rather than being hard just to be hard.If I have a problem with Final Fantasy, it’s that the games sometimes feel like the gameplay is an afterthought to telling the story. But in the Souls games, story and gameplay are intermixed in a way I’d never seen done before. You have to construct the story like an archeologist, using dialogue and lore from descriptions of in-game objects. I find this fascinating; the series tells stories in a way a book never could. I’m always glad when a game series can show off the specific strengths of the medium.In fact, this series would be #1 except for the little fact that I have way too much time on Steam logged playing...

#1: Civilization VI

This series had to take #1 by sheer weight of gameplay time. I discovered the first on a friend’s computer in the dorms my freshman year—and I can still remember the feeling of the birds chirping outside, realizing I’d been playing all night and really should get back to my own dorm room.That still happens, and has happened, with every game in the series. I have a lot of thoughts on this series, many of them granular and too specific for this list. (Like, it’s obvious AI technology isn’t up to the task of playing a game this complex—so could we instead get a roguelike set of modifiers, game modes, etc. to liven up the games, rather than just having a difficulty slider that changes a few simple aspects of the game?)I’ll try not to rant, because I really do love this game series. A lot of people consider IV to be the pinnacle of the series, but after V unstacked units—and VI unstacked cities—there was no way I could ever go back. If for some reason, you’ve never played this grand patriarch of the 4X game genre, it’s about starting with a single stone-age settler who can found a city—then playing through eras of a civilization, growing your empire, to try to eventually get offworld with a space program. (Or, if you prefer, conquering the world.)It’s a load of fun in the way I like to have fun, and I feel like the series has only gotten better over the years. My hat is off to the developers, who keep reinventing the series, rather than making the exact same game over and over.Now, about that request for difficulty modes...

there are runner ups but for the sake of anyone whos on mobile and cant get past a read more (first of all omg im SO sorry) ill refrain. anyway he thought WHAT loz game was the best before botw?

#mix between HARDCORE judgement and like. yea. yea ff10 was pretty good wasnt it #but i dont think its anywhere near the best of them #long post #im read mores dont work imm so fucking sorry this is so long #MOST of these games are good its just so wild its so wild its SO wild #asks #Anonymous

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flyingfudgenuggets · 7 years

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Saltbae Sice

#flyingfudgenuggets #fan art #ff type 0 #sice #salt sprinkling #i can't color to save my life #but i can try right??#hey nice apron sicey!#oh it matches...#watcha talking about sevvy?#her apron matches her pan-- hrmpgh!#shut it seven!!#so you have a shocking pink frying pan too sicey?#y-yeah that's it cinque #and wipe that smirk off your face queen!!#saltbae

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darkzeruda1214 · 5 years

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I’m not going deny, I was heavily inspired by just a Pancake’s video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MoIpdFLz-Ls&t=4s

The Fandom does a much better job at writing and developing these gals than game has ever done or shown. I do love these three but stuff like this still bugs the shit out of me.

I love these gals. But I’m not going to deny that Just a Pancake really makes a valid point. And to be fair after some thinking I see the argument he was trying to make.

Now I know we all have own opinions and that’s fine. I stay firm with mine as you do yourselves. And that’s what makes a fandom, we all have a right to dislike and disagree if we want to. In fact I do encourage because it allows debates and second thinking if needed.

Anyways… back on topic, I’m going to be blunt. But Kingdom Hearts just dosen’t make good female characters. (This is not including Disney girls of FF, just KH original characters)

And it’s kinda sad considering how few main original KH female characters there are. You think they’d be able to bulk up personalities, but that seems to go to all the male characters.

As amazing and fun this game is, it needs some tweaking on making their female characters, feel alive.

Now I’m not talking about the fandom perspectives of these gals, because I’m going to be real. The fans do an INSANELY better job at portraying these girls. (TAKE NOTES NOMURA DAMN IT!)

Now there are a few exceptions a couple being Larxene and Olette. To me (and feel to disagree with me) they were the only ones that felt like had something to offer.

Larxene has more character than all the other gals. Being sarcastic, sadistic and snide (at times insufferable bitch) and to me that breaths a lot of personality and I love her for it. Even her voice actor has put a great amount of effort in bringing Larxene to life. Out of all the KH girls she is the one who brings in most of the attention. And even in the few scenes she gets the spotlight without even trying.

The second being Olette. Now I know some of you are already typing as to how she has anything to offer. She’s not even a main character! Yes, and that the thing, I think because she has no major role in it allows the writers to give her a character that comes off as simple and sweet. She’s the only one to demonstrated that she’s as normal and ordinary as a person can be in this series. Something we don’t exactly see happening in the KH franchise since every named character has a role to fulfill, and for her to be a small breath of fresh air is a nice change of pace. It shows: yes there are normal people, with normal lives. They have no scripted important task ahead of them, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of it.

And not only that, we did get to know bits and parts of her personality. And her interests thanks to small details sprinkled in KH2 and 3. Such as showing she has her priorities straight and 'actually' doing her homework/jobs before the due date. She loves going to the beach and loves spending time with her friends. Also she like to go shopping. A simple character, with a simple purpose. And to me she feels alive and just in general, a simple but easy character to relate to. She’s a perfect example of a beauty in simplicity.

Now… as for the main girls.

Aqua is literally my favorite KH girl. However, the thing about her, is that she shared too many similar features with Sora. Now I don’t mean personality wise because Aqua is much more mature and level headed than Sora could ever be

However, as much as I really hate to admit it. Aqua doesn’t have anything to offer other than a serious role model and as a plot device...

I think what made Aqua popular is the fact that she’s a strong independent female character who doesn’t need no man to save her. (Also, she has a really well thought out design). And for that I praise and respect her for it. Yet… throughout the game, she relatively keeps the same straight face. Her expression has shown to be sad, angry or just stoic. Nothing too bad, but as far as that, we don’t see Aqua have any interests beyond wanting to save her friends. And to me that’s all she did in the series, I’m not going to lie the first time I played Birth by Sleep, I saw absolutely no reason for her to be in the game. I mean Xehanort (he can go suck a dick) focused all of his attention on Terra to take over his body. And on Ventus to play a role in forging the X-blade.

But as for Aqua, to me it seemed like she was just walked in there to simply fill a space and create another trio. Now I’m not saying under circumstance that she is useless. After all, her role in the game is a huge catalyst for the events of KH1. It gives her a purpose and is one of the most important characters. But to me that felt more like a large plot device and changer other than being a person. Aqua suffered a lot in the series, no doubt. But being a catalyst isn’t enough to be a good character. She’s not bad by any means, as I still hold her a place in my heart. But I feel like she was put on plot pedestal in the series instead of being given a full fledged personality that makes her relatable. There are only two instances that allowed Aqua to not be a emotionless character:

One being with Zack asking her on a date and the second is when she tried to help Cinderella and Jaq in Castle of Dreams world. To see an awkward/embarrassed expression instead of the dull zombie-like one was a nice sense of relief to give her something.

Another character that suffers from this treatment is Xion. She is one of my favorite characters from 358/2 days, but beyond the fact that she got the short end of the stick of being forgotten by her own friends (and everyone else for that matter). Her story is a tragic one, one that always gives me the feels and her theme is both beautiful and sad. But I wouldn’t say she had a character that made me connect with her as much as it could have.

She definitely has more expression and personality compared to Aqua that’s for sure. But not by much, however hers is within good reason. After all she was a puppet created by Vexen and Organization XIII don’t get me wrong. I understand that, and I would say it’s unfair for me to be saying this to her. And you’re right, it is unfair, but Xion eventually learned how to have emotions. How to cry and what happiness and laughter is and feels like.

The one thing I did get from her is that she loves sea salt ice cream and is one of the cutest and sweetest character in the game. But as far as her interests goes, there’s not much to go by. Now I know you can argue that both Roxas and Axel don’t exactly express their interest beyond their time in the clock tower. And it’s true, but Xion doesn’t add much more either… again I feel like she was only added in the game last minute. And that’s why in the story she’s forgotten so they have an explanation as to what happened to her and why she’s not recalled in KH2. Xion also gets the “plot device” treatment rather than as a character. And to me it feels like a disrespect to her character! (Her manga incarnation is MILES better).

However, I also don’t say much on her either only because she is still learning how to be her own individual. But my point still stands, though it’s prone to change, mostly because she now has the opportunity to be a character after KH3 since everyone remembers her and has her own body. And she might finally get an personality expansion in the next set of installments in the future.

Now as for Kairi…

Well this topic has been talked and reviewed over to death. In fact I even spoke about her character in this post here: https://princesszelda-heroine.tumblr.com/post/187815960646/kairi-deserved-better

But to sum it up, Kairi hasn’t been given a chance to shine as an individual compared to her friends and the others. And after what happened in KH3 I’m just more frustrated with the writers and developers that they won’t allow her to grow with sustenance! Whatever she had in KH1 and 2 was totally stripped in KH3.

My point being. Being a plot device in game or a catalyst for another one. Or having amazing/original design, does. Not. Make. A. Good. Fleshed. Out. Character.

I’m sorry to say this. But it’s true.

This is why I hate the treatment these gals go through in game. I stick solely to fan works because they give these girls the justice they deserve and makes me love them more as a whole.

I know there is a lot of things I didn’t cover, and maybe I missed a couple of points. But this is how I see this, and how I think the franchise is really missing a lot of good opportunities developing them.

They really don't have much to offer as far as personality growth. Thank You KH Manga series.

#kingdom hearts #kh #kh3 #aqua #Kairi #Xion #rant #personal confessions #confess series

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ineffablecolors · 5 years

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I can't believe you would glorify salted caramel and COMPLETELY ignore lemon sorbet. LEMON SORBET WON AN ICE CREAM CHOICE AWARD FFS. You're being bias and bitter and have you even counted the sprinkles?? (sorry i just wanted to try cheer you up :p )

lemon sorbet? is this a sex thing? you can’t just pick random flavours!

there is a strict hierarchy of flavours and if a sorbet won an award then that was an anomaly because everybody knows sorbets are all B-listers at the end of the day.

#you better up your ice-cream game #or you won't be allowed into the parlour soon!#(and neither would i apparently :D_

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lowkeysebastianstan · 5 years

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hey there. I totally get your frustration with endgame and the ending. I wasn't happy and I'm not happy how half the fandom tells me/us how we have to look at it. how we have to accept it. how the actors are happy with it and so should we. how the writers/producers - okay, I'm gonna leave them out of this seeing neither of them have any idea what they have done in the first place. after all they disagree on everything in every interview since the release. and isn't that funny? (1/?)

how even they are not on one side with the movie? what I despise most right now when it comes to this movie and this fandom is how we are treated. how we should tag our “hate” - which I think is funny since I didn’t hate the movie entirely. I hated pieces of it, like I did with past movies. I never liked doctor strange and even back then people were allowed to mention how casting cumberbatch for the part wasn’t the smartest idea they had. (2/?)

people want us to be happy with an ending that doesn’t make sense to us and they appreciate and are “allowed” to shove down our throats with their happy posts about a perfect ending. how is taking tony’s life after he finally married pepper and got a daughter is perfect? how is sending steve back to peggy after they did everything in their power to convince us he moved on from his past life…how is that perfect? (3/?)

you can probably tell I’m bitter. I really am. there’s not a day that goes by I’m not frustrated with what we got after ten years and 22 movies. however, I thought to myself what would it give me to cling on to this on my blog. would it change anything? I do know I’m not alone. I see so many people agreeing with this anger and it gives me some sort of peace. at the end of the day, though, it’s also important to see what it gives to you. (4/?)

talking to one of my closest friends about it and voicing my frustration with the end helps me more than keep posting about it. because in the end it won’t change a thing. the longer I surround myself with the frustration and anger and everything that comes with this not being what I had hoped for the more it pushes me from the fandom. of course everyone do as they please and I get people who want to get it out of their system. (5/?)

but maybe sitting down and look at what the constant repeating will give you in the end, realizing where it might end, could help finding some kind of peace for you. I’d hope for you to enjoy the parts of the fandom that still apply to you. I really like your blog and you as a person and I’d hate to see one of my fave people on this site to leave (I lost count, but this is the last)

whew! hi right back, that was quite something.

i feel ive answered this ask before, was that also you?

i mean, yeah. i know im not alone, i do. i see some of it on my dash, but not a lot, since ive had to block every marvel related tag just to keep from indulging in some light murder (just gentle ones, not to worry), and i really cannot fathom why ppl on the other side of the isle can’t do the same? or if you’re getting tired of the negativity? blacklist. or unfollow, block even.

as ive said a few times lately, ive been here 6 years. and this is the first time ive aired my frustration in any noticeable way. sure there’s been a few occasions where i got the salt shaker out, but that was in relation to much more limited subjects, and it was a post or two at the most.

ive been frustrated with previous movies too, but ive kept my trap shut, ive just gone on, kept my queue stocked, giffed the rare set and hid behind pretty solid content, no drama, not personality, no engagement.

and it’s not too bad, to just be anonymous, to look at the pretty, spread the pretty, do the occasional tag rant, and let that be it.

but.

when i came back after a long hiatus last autumn i started writing again. i posted a psa where i apologised for the fact that i would reblog my writing on this blog, i informed what tags i was gonna use, and for the first time i actually checked my follower count before and after. i lost 20 followers the first day. for posting writing. my writing. that was tagged to a ridiculous degree. and i saw a fair few more disappear before the exodus, and idk. i made me realise a thing or two.

one, people like my blog and the content i post

two, they’re only here for that content

three, to have a strictly themed blog will limit you horribly

four, my followers in general don’t give a shit about me, only about the content i post, which fair enough

five, i care about that, even if i don’t care about the follower count as such, i do care that the ones i have actually like me

six, which is completely absurd bc none of them knows me at all, i never show myself

but that was then. this is now. and the last weeks has made me realise the most important thing of all, i dont care any more. why the fuck should i? when my showing any kind of negativity about something that i did care a whole lot about but i no longer have?

endgame might have killed all my enthusiasm for the mcu, and it fucking hurts. it’s been a staple in my life for years, ive invested my time, my creativity, my love and my goddamn money, and ive got jack shit to show for it. i have a blog that i used to love, but is becoming alien to me, and that hurts too. ive invested a lot in this blog too, after i deleted a few of my other blogs a couple of years back, this is by far my biggest one. and im torn tbh.

do i want to leave it? no, i don’t. can i go back? honestly? i doubt it. if my love for the mcu is gone, well so is bucky. and lets be real, a sebastian stan blog with no bucky? i cannot really see it, can you?

but hey. ill make you a deal, all of you. ill ease up on the memes, i won’t stop bc i have a few scheduled, you guys blacklist or unfollow if you dont want to see them, and ill see about sprinkling in some sebastian content if i can find any i deem worth it.

also i don’t have any close irl friends to air my frustrations with, everyone here loved this crap, and that’s not really the discourse im looking for. but im happy for you, it sounds nice :)

hope you’re having a great day!

eta: i won’t leave btw. not unless the porn hub thing comes into fruition. just so you know, and if anyone cares. just sayin.

eta2: also? the fact that i, or we, are complaining and being pissed at the movie, but the opposition are attacking us for doing that? instead of, again, fucking blacklist and leave us the fuck alone? yeah, doesn’t help with the bitter. if y’all are so threatened by our arguments, maybe you should reevaluate your own, seems you’re trying a bit too hard there. i don’t want to take enjoyment from anyone, i envy you too much for that, but ffs, just leave me the fuck alone to deal with it. (that’s not @ you, that’s to them)

eta3: and thank you for saying im someone you like. but see? ive been trolling you all, im terrible. and i expect you don’t like me as much now anyways. but thank you, it was nice to hear nevertheless.

#anon #ask #answered #anti endgame #see? i still tag it ffs #long post #so so long #hey i get it #the positivity is killing me #i get where you're coming from #but it's getting a bit tiresome to have people just come in and tell me to get over it #no matter how well you mean it #im sorry that i cant just snap and make half my feelings go away #y'know bc that would take away any good ones too #good greif infinity war kinda sucks too doesn't it #wow

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thecloserkin · 6 years

Text

book review: Jeannette Ng, Under the Pendulum Sun (2017)

Genre: Gothic fantasy

Is it the main pairing: Yes

Is it canon: Yes

Is it explicit: No

Is it endgame: Yes

Is it shippable: It is lit

Bottom line: HOW IS THIS BOOK EVEN REAL. When they put me in the ground I hope they bury me with a copy of this book so I can read it in the afterlife.

Miss Catherine Helstone, a clergyman’s daughter, sets sail for the infidel lands where her brother Laon is a missionary and from whence his letters home have grown increasingly cryptic and erratic. The twist is, he’s not spreading the Good Word in India or Africa or the New World — he’s in Fairie asdfgkkjkdfjdk. Catherine hasn’t seen him in three years. She’s so worried about him that she strong-arms the Missionary Society of London into bankrolling her ticket to Arcadia, on the grounds that the previous guy who held the post met a messy & mysterious end, and she is the properest person to prevent the same fate befalling Laon. Because she’s highkey in love with him. Well, that revelation takes half the book to unfold, however the opening line is “My brother and I grew up dreaming of new worlds.” For the first 25% of the book she doesn’t even lay eyes on Laon, she just shows up in Arcadia and stays in his house while he’s gone on some unspecified errand. And what a house it is.

I feel like I’ve spent my whole life reading about impossibly grand, potentially sentient haunted houses. Such houses are drenched in secrets. You need a first-person narrator to really experience the affect of the house, preferably someone who’s unfamiliar with the setting and disoriented by the mind games it plays: Jane Eyre in Mr. Rochester’s house leaps to mind. Jane Eyre btw nearly marries her first cousin to take up the missionary life with him (before deciding to go back to Rochester). See, the reason Jane’s cousin proposed to her was because ties of blood were thought to be not strong enough to bind—when you’re out in the field converting heathens you need an acknowledged romantic attachment. So the fact that Cathy follows her brother to Arcadia tells you everything about how important he is to her. She would have followed him to perdition. Think of that immortal Sylvia Plath quote: I love him to hell and back and heaven and back, and have and do and will.

To return to the subject of incest in haunted houses: The Fall of the House of Usher? Atmospheric, creepy af, but the implied relationship is presented decidedly unsympathetically. The Thirteenth Tale? The incest is canon but you are not supposed to be rooting for the incestuous couple. Crimson Peak? She’s mentally ill and it’s not even the fucked-up kind of shippable a la Jaime/Cersei. Flowers in the Attic? Shippable, but the dubious consent squicks me out. A Spell of Winter? Comes closest, in that they were 100% in love, but it was a situational in love if you know what I mean—where is my tormented passion with 200 pages of obsessive pining??? Now do you see why I lost my fucking mind when I read Under the Pendulum Sun? I have been waiting for this book for MY ENTIRE GODDAMN LIFE.

Laon may be absent from the house, but he is very much present in Cathy’s thoughts. She can’t go five paragraphs without mentioning some innocuous detail, fondly remembered from their shared childhood.

In youth, I had shared Laon’s restlessness. University had only nourished and nurtured his ambitions, but education had stifled mine. I had been taught to tame my wild impulses and desires that had agitated me to pain. I had folded it with my soul and learnt to drink contentment like you would a poison. Drop by drop, day by day. Until it became tolerable.

If this isn’t shades of Cersei & Jaime, mirrors cracked by patriarchy!!! Seriously this is exactly how Cersei must have felt, after 8 years of crossdressing in each other’s clothes, the day the master-at-arms put a sword in Jaime’s hand and she got… what, embroidery? Cathy cried the first time Laon went off to Latin & Greek lessons without her. He smuggles his books to her afterwards, of course, and they do spend plenty of time poring over the classics together. But it’s not the same as being granted that education in her own right. In the great tradition of clergymen’s daughters, Cathy is “genteel enough to be educated and accomplished, but never useful. Caught between the world of labour and that of letters,” she goes on to become a lady’s companion and later a governess—which for a gently-reared lady is a kind of social death. Jane Fairfax in Emma certainly saw it that way. Wellborn women generally embark upon the vocation of governess as an avenue of last resort. Which is to say, there’s not a lot of scope for independent ambition for a girl in Cathy’s position. She’s twenty-five when she comes to Arcadia, and what is incredible is not that she doesn’t mention any suitors or romantic dalliances but she doesn’t even mention any friends by name. It’s like her whole world is Laon, her thoughts are consumed by him, her memories are dominated by him. It must have been very lonely growing up on the Yorkshire moors.

When I was young and I walked on the moors with Laon, I could not imagine a wilder place, given over to nature. The biting chill in our faces and the mists hanging over the endless, treeless dales. We chased each other, through the rippling heather, through ruined farmhouses. We would pretend that we were the only people left alive in the world.

And so, here I was: clutching the compass he had left behind, knot tightening within my heart, under the light of the pendulum sun.

Mark that metaphor of the knot tightening around her heart—it will continue to crop up. She’s been in love with him a long time, even if she won’t admit it to herself. Ffs he left her a compass when he took up his missionary duties, and if that isn’t a metaphor for his heart I dunno what is.

Laon and I used to play games, scaring each other under the sheets … I still remember huddling against him, hooking our fingers together and promising under every token that we held sacred that if one of us were to die, we would come back and haunt the other.

This is at once wholesome and macabre—they would give up heaven and hope of salvation in order to HAUNT the other as a GHOST because they’re that scared of being separated from each other? ICONIC.

I longed to hear my brother’s sermons again. He had a passion that surged under the measured cadence of his voice and, more than that, I had begun to miss his discordant singing.

She misses his sermons! She misses his voice even if he can’t carry a tune! She misses everything about him!

I missed Laon. I used to tickle him in church to keep him awake. All too often, we’d giggle and bicker under our breaths until our father cast us a stern gaze from the pulpit and we’d silence. I’d keep holding his hand, though, as he needed my nails in his palm to not fall asleep.

He would reach across the table and wind my hair behind my ear. Reaching for a pin to secure the distracting hair, I told myself that it was nonsense to miss the softness of his touch or the stroke of his fingers.

That night, I dreamt. Laon and I were children again, when his hands were no bigger than mine. We were running, tumbling through the heather …

I tried to imagine his voice. I remembered the curve of his ears against my lips and the warmth of his hands in mine. We had not laced together our fingers for a very long time. He didn’t even shake my hand before he left.

This girl sure spends a lot of time thinking about holding her brother’s hand!!! Here the text begins to tease at the rupture that happened before he left, and the non-supernatural causes of their long estrangement. Oh here she is asking theologically thorny questions of her tutors at boarding school:

My palms stung for days afterwards as I was whipped for impertinence. I gritted my teeth through the pain as I wrote to Laon about it, my letters curling all wonky.

Awwww he’s her #1 confidante, the one she turns to for comfort and validation. It’s been tough not having him around these last few years:

More than ever, I missed Laon. I wanted to tell him about this, to press my forehead against his and whisper to him what I knew like old secrets shared in the dark under blankets and sheepskins.

It’s just that everyone seems to take Cathy for granted—offhand she says she’s darned more socks than educated young minds—and Laon is the only one who sees her and values her. Every memory of their childhood closeness is somehow sweet as well as mega suggestive?! Here are some more super suggestive lines:

”You don’t only ever want things you could have.”

”It is dangerous eating forbidden foods.”

That last line refers to the well-known injunction against mortals eating or drinking anything while sojourning in the faerie realm: Once you taste fae food the Fair Folk get to keep you forever. In the mythology of this story, it’s okay to eat as long as you sprinkle salt on it first. You have to put salt in everything you consume, though, even your hot chocolate—just another reminder that Arcadia is inhospitable and alien and if you set one foot wrong your soul is forfeit. For the moment Cathy is confined to the manor, because there’s a geas that guarantees her safety on the property but not beyond it. So she wanders around this creepy-ass house that features doors into empty air, lanterns guttering out, moths that eat away the ink on your parchment. The other inhabitants include: A ghostly housekeeper she never sees, a gnome handyman lately converted to Christianity, and a changeling fae girl who Cathy suspects to be her brother’s mistress. Cathy obtains the journals of Reverend Hale—the priest who preceded Laon—and sets to work deciphering them.

My brother’s house became to me a place of questions without answers.

Later on, when Laon returns, he straight up begs her to leave it alone:

”Don’t do this,” he pleaded. “Don’t try to solve this place. It won’t end well.”

This, of course, is the sort of admonition ignored by the heroine of every Gothic romance—warnings destined to fall on deaf ears as she plunges ahead to unravel the mystery. Ok but let’s talk about the scene where Laon comes back, encounters Cathy and concludes she is a PHANTOM conjured up to torment him:

”If you are trying to seduce me, spirit, I’m afraid I’m quite incapable at the moment.” “I … I am your Cathy. Your sister.”

But of course any spirit would take the form of his sister, the person dearest to his heart. “Seduce” is an interesting word choice, isn’t it? But listen to the way she says “your Cathy”!!!

”Why do you plague me so? Does it please you to see me like this? Have you tortured me enough?” ”Is it so impossible that I am indeed your sister? Can you not believe that I could and would follow you? Can you not believe that I have the strength and the love to come? Can you not believe that I would care—“ “Catherine!” His walking stick clattered to the floor.

And then he TAKES HER IN HIS ARMS. They fall down and roll around, his face muffled in her shoulder, and she “dared not look at him” which is code for “if I look at him I will kiss him” until they’re interrupted by a servant and guiltily spring apart. She’s so glad to have him back. Listen to the easy way they tease each other:

”Oh, hush, you are nothing like Lord Byron.” I took the page from him. “Your poetry is abysmal.” “Exactly like him then,” said Laon.

I SNORTED.

”You used to crawl into my bed when there was thunder. I was always fairly sure it was just an excuse, you would fall asleep so quickly when you clung to me.” “You were warm,” I muttered in half confession, avoiding his gaze. “And your bed smelt nice.” “My bed smelt of me.” My voice grew smaller and my fingers agitated. “Exactly.”

HE SMELLED NICE. And who can resist the all-powerful bedsharing trope amirite? The problem is, just because Laon is physically present doesn’t mean he stops being emotionally distant:

I found myself studying the rhythm of his gait, the set of his jaw and the weariness in his shoulders. There was so much between us that remained unspoken, and for all that I could read from the way he moved and held himself, it was not enough.

There are oceans of unsaid things between them. Plus, every time she lays a hand on him—and after their reunion it’s always Cathy initiating the touch—he acts like it physically pains him. How do you react to that, to your brother recoiling from you touch?

”I am not an ornamental hermit,” said Laon, his anger spilling over. I placed a hand on his shoulder and he flinched at my touch but calmed.

The sight of my own helpless brother disarmed me. I reached out a comforting hand to him, laying it on his shoulder … He leaned into my touch and I could see his demeanor soften before he pulled away.

”You need me here, Laon.” I put my hand on his shoulder; he flinched and pulled away. ”You aren’t safe here.” his eyes flickered to me and then away again. “It’s not about that … It’s not that I need you, it’s that I want—“ he stopped. His voice sounded as though it was about to break. He turned and simply left.

Laon does that at lot—breaks off in the middle of sentences. He’ll say things like, ”Is it not enough that—“ and then just stop. Like he has to clamp the words down before he can betray his true feelings to Cathy. He tells her she has to leave in two weeks, which is an entirely arbitrary deadline based on the fact that he can’t stop either worrying about her or wanting her:

”It is very dangerous out there, Cathy. In the mists. Anything … I cannot—“ “What cannot you do, Laon? … Have you not done it all? Have you not gone to university? Have you not left England? Have you not made yourself a grand explorer?”

What he cannot do, and what he longs to do above all, is protect her. He’s been petitioning the Faerie Queen to grant the Church some concessions, like license to travel & preach all over Arcadia, and it doesn’t sound like he’s getting anywhere. Cathy’s presence is both keeping him sane and driving him to distraction.

Though my eyes were on the fire, his were on me. I could feel his gaze on my skin and I ached to touch him again.

She ACHES for hiS TOuCH omg i am L I V I N G. Did I mention she DREAMS about him, like, constantly?

That night, I dreamt of Laon. He lay under a willow in a garden, resting his head on the lap of a pale, pale woman. She wound her arms around him and he sighed as she stroked his face … The dream continued for some time, and when I finally awoke, I found my eyes gritty and sore from unshed tears, and my heart aching.

She later recognizes the “pale, pale woman” as the actual Faerie Queen who invites herself to Laon’s house on a sort of Royal Progress. This is Cathy greeting the queen and registering that she’s the woman from her dream:

I withered under her gaze and that knot of pain in my chest grew heavier and tighter. She smiled, and I could see again those lips brushing against my brother’s ears.

The thing is, Cathy invokes the imagery of lips brushing against ears in reference to her own memories of growing up with Laon, “his lips brushing against my ear in mimicry of a secret.” It gets worse. She’s summoned to the Faerie Queen’s chambers and the bottom drops out of her stomach when she sees the bed:

I remembered attaching my green ribbons to our old sheets. They had been our mother’s in her dowry, and when Laon had inherited them I had sewn on the green ribbons on an extravagant whim. I had worn those ribbons in my hair running through the moors. I remember him trying to snatch them from me as we rolled about in the heather. Those were Laon’s sheets on Mab’s beds.

Those are literally the sheets that made up their mother’s trousseau, that Cathy herself had painstakingly embellished with her own handiwork. In an era when all your clothes and linens had to be hand-sewn without aid of machines, it was indeed extravagant to spend that much time adding green ribbons to a perfectly serviceable set of sheets. The symbolic significance though—Cathy would have sewn them on for Laon, would have expected Laon to sleep on them. WHAT KIND OF FUCKING MESSAGE IS THIS BITCH TRYING TO SEND??? Cathy can’t be blamed for wondering. It makes her blood boil to imagine Laon in the Faerie Queen’s arms. If the goal was to make Cathy insanely jealous by flaunting her hold over Laon, well, achievement unlocked I guess.

The Fairie Queen takes up residence. She insists on (1) a masquerade ball and (2) a boar hunt. The ball is a highly bizarre affair—the dancers are clockwork automatons, the guests materialize out of paintings—but one thing it does is force Cathy and Laon to confront their frankly off-the-charts level of physical attraction to each other:

He loomed over me and I felt that prickle of annoyance that I have known all my life about his height. “You— you’re…”he hesitated before finishing. “You’re quite pretty.” The knot within my heart tightened. I simply could not remember the last time he had remarked upon my appearance. He said nothing when I twirled before him in old dresses on the eve of my first dance at the squire’s house. Nothing when the village girls and I gigglingly contemplated the prospect of marriage and asked his assessment. Nothing when I attended his first sermon in my best dress and mother’s brooch. He must not have done so since we were children. My brow furrowed, trying to make sense of that knot within me. It ached with a visceral familiarity, as though I had borne it all my life without knowledge of it. “I’m sorry,” said my brother. “I should not have said anything.” “No … I hadn’t realized how long it was since you last said that.” A smile wavered at the corner of his lips.

”Cathy, do you think me handsome?” … I took a step closer, to see him better. A flush rose within me, unaccustomed to the nearness of him. Without asking, I reached behind him and undid the ribbon of his domino mask. It fell free of his face, and I kept staring. For the first time in a long time, I simply looked at my brother’s face. It was strange, as I had thought it so familiar, but it was to his moods and changes, the subtle quirk of his mouth or flash of his eyes …. Would she think him as beautiful as I did?

Ok first of all to reach behind someone’s head and remove their mask is the most intimate of gestures. Second of all, Cathy and Laon encounter another pair of siblings at the ball who are codependent as hell and not tryna hide it, of the “he stroked her hair with the lightest of touches…. she drew a nail across the skin of his jaw” variety. Those two are described as waltzing across the floor in a hold “too close to be decent,” which could also describe their relationship in general tbh. What’s interesting is that while Laon and Cathy do not waltz together at the actual masquerade, that night she dreams about waltzing with him. The significance of the waltz versus one of the regular old country dances is the waltz is deemed waaaaay more risqué; you spend the whole dance with one partner and there’s a lot more skin-to-skin contact. Halfway through the ball, the Faerie Queen claps her hands, dispels the illusions that festoon the hall and voila, the fae revert to their true shapes! The singing birds are revealed to be human prisoners in chains! Cathy’s elaborate ballgown disappears!

”Cathy …” My brother choked out my name. I looked confused at his face. He was staring at me intently. The hunger in his eyes was both alien and achingly familiar. That knot within me tightened and I felt a warmth spread across my skin. “You—“ His jaw clenched and his lips pulled into a tight line. He did not stop staring, though, even as I could tell he was trying to stop … I was completely naked underneath the gossamer thin fabric. I could feel my brother’s gaze upon my skin, his study of my shape.

He can’t tear his eyes from her naked body and I don’t care how cliched it is, I am HERE FOR IT. She flees up to her room then, and it’s in the context of her mortifying exit from the ball that she has the dream where she’s waltzing with Laon:

We were at once running through the heather and arguing over his departure to become a missionary. We were bickering over toy soldiers, getting lost in the garden. We were gazing upon our father’s coffin and despairing over our inheritance of debts. All moments of our intertwined lives tangled before me. I felt that old, familiar knot within my chest tighten. My fingers traced against his flesh and I found the words that were written there …. As I read his bound soul, his hands uncovered mine. We followed each unutterable word, each branded red and raw in the book of human skin … I found my own name written upon the book of his soul.

This is (1) unbearably poetic (2) inevitable. Their whole lives have been leading to this. And then the next day she confronts him in the stables before the hunt:

“You can’t do this alone. You need me here.” “You don’t understand, Cathy …” “If not me, then someone else, a wife, Miss Davenport.” My voice was hollow even to my own ears; I did not want him to marry. To utter the words twisted the knotted pain in my chest, the knot I did not want to give a name to. I remembered feeling it every time he flirted with another woman, every time the ladies at church would flutter by and giggle at the prospect of an attachment. I had carried it within myself for so long, heavy as a stone. For the first time, I felt the true weight of it, across my shoulders and tight around my chest. I felt a spinning sense of unbalance even as that weight and pain anchored me. “You need someone and it should be me. You should not be alone here.” “I want you here. More than anything.” “Then why are you sending me away?”

Do you hear that? The weight of her painful passion for her brother has anchored her for so long that she’s unbalanced by the loss of it. When she places the look in his eyes as lust, when the knot in her chest begins to loosen the tiniest bit, she’s flailing bc she doesn’t know what to do with herself. At this point I need to spoil the central twist of this story so I urge you all in the STRONGEST terms to please go read it then come back ok?

SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS

Gothic fiction is full of doubles. Not like, literal doppelgängers, but characters whose existence is designed to cast certain traits of the protagonist’s into sharp relief. Fresh off the boat the very first person that Cathy meets in Arcadia is Miss Ariel Davenport, the aforementioned changeling whose function in Laon’s household is unclear. Ariel is weird. She rambles on about esoteric subjects, asks non sequitur questions, and claims an unearned intimacy by calling Cathy by her Christian name. Ariel was swapped for the “real” Ariel Davenport as a baby, and grew up thinking she was human. Here’s how she found out she wasn’t:

”I do know I don’t need food. I don’t starve, I just feel hungry … Ariel Davenport’s family died in a workhouse. I watched them starve when I did not. Whatever fae gears were inside me kept turning.”

What a brutal awakening. Ariel talks a lot about how she doesn’t fit in, how she doesn’t really belong in Arcadia but when she tries to do human things like embroider a handkerchief or love someone there’s an offness to it:

”But it’s not quite the same. Doesn’t come naturally.”

Ariel’s name recalls the spirit from Shakespeare’s The Tempest, who also got a pretty raw deal—she was a genie-in-a-bottle enslaved to a magician with delusions of grandeur— and Ariel Davenport likewise never grows enough of a spine to openly cross her master. Her “master” would be the Faerie Queen, the one at whose court Laon is currently detained. She’s the one pulling all the strings. There’s a reason that Ariel was sent to stay with Laon and Cathy, and the reason, as you may have surmised, is that Cathy is a changeling too. DUN DUN DUN.

That’s the revelation that shatters her. It’s Ariel who discloses the truth to her, a truth the reader has probably divined already from other hints; it’s Ariel who, transfigured into various animal guises, is the quarry of the hunt. Cathy plunges a knife into Ariel’s heart (!) bc someone’s gotta do it, the Queen has decreed Ariel must die for sport and at least this way Laon’s hands will be clean of murder. It’s ok if Cathy does it, she tells herself, because she doesn’t have a soul. And the consummation of her and Laon’s relationship happens right on the heels of that, because you can’t really expect a mainstream audience to be invested in a love scene unless you assure them it’s not really incest since they’re not blood-related, so that checks out. She’s trying to wash Ariel’s blood off when he knocks on her door:

No, Catherine Helstone’s brother. I corrected myself … He was not mine to call my own.

I did not turn around. I did not want to see the look in his eyes. I feared his pity, his revulsion, his anger. I dreaded it all, but above all, I feared his absence.

Ahsjhdjfhdjfd he drops his greatcoat on the floor, rolls up his sleeves, and takes up a washcloth to bathe her:

”We used to share a copper bath like this by the fire,” he said conversationally. I could hear the strain in his voice, see the slight tremble in his motions. “When we were small enough to both fit inside the tub. You hated washing your hair because of the soap in your eyes.” Did I giggle when he upended buckets of water over my head or was I angered? Did I sit patiently as he scrubbed my back or did I squirm at his touch. The water was lukewarm but Laon’s touch was anything but cold. I followed his every movement, the nonsense patterns upon my skin. I was holding my breath, listening to his. I could feel him, warm and solid behind me, his breath hot on my shoulder, at the base of my neck. Shivers spidered down my spine and spread over me. I ached … And then, his hands were on me again, strong, demanding. I revealed in his force; it proved to me that I was not breaking, that I would not shatter. He tightened his grip on my hips and I gasped. Fleetingly, I felt real.

That’s the crux of it. Her entire life has been a sham; being loved by Laon is the only thing that’s left, the only thing that’s real. You can see her already begin to doubt her recollection of the past, wondering “did i giggle…? did i squirm…?” because HONESTLY IT COULD’VE BEEN INCEPTION. HOW DO U KNOW WHATS REAL. She’s spent the first half of the novel spinning us endless anecdotes from her childhood with Laon, and now this happens, it destroys the foundations of her identity:

All my memories seemed so distant. My imperfect, simulacrum mind with its imperfect memories … I told my youth to myself like a story, trying to remember who I was. I told myself about the little papers I wrote with Catherine Helstone’s brother, the names we gave the toy soldiers and the fantastical yet tediously mundane lands they explored … It all seemed so very insubstantial. Except that memory. I flushed warm whenever my thoughts brushed against it. Unlike everything else, I remembered with embarrassing clarity, every touch between us, every biting kiss and each hot breath. I was a moth, speared like a specimen by his scrutiny. I lay under him, pinned. His gaze, his touch, his grip made me real.

This is Cathy two or three days ago talking to Ariel about her earliest memory:

”I always liked to think that my first memory was of Laon. I was three, maybe and we were playing. I don’t remember what, but we were hiding under a table and we had to be very quiet. The tablecloth was red and I think I remember his fingers against my lips.” “Is it real?” “Of course it is,” I said. I touched my fingers to my mouth, lingering on that memory, the vivid feeling of his skin against mine.

If she doesn’t even have her memories of Laon, what does she have??? What is true and what is a forgery? This is from her waltz dream the night before:

We were surrounded by faceless automatons, by soulless far, by mindless beasts. He was the last real thing within these borders, under this unreal sun.

So the Queen and her retinue depart. Cathy and Laon are not atm seeing eye to eye because he’s wracked by guilt for the carnal sin they’ve committed, and she’s wracked by guilt because she, you know, murdered Ariel. I’m not at all surprised at Laon, though—this is after all the man who wrote in his journal:

Sometimes this cross is heavy beyond endurance. I carry it in repentance for the sins of my heart, for that is the same as the sins of the flesh. To look upon a woman in lust is to have committed adultery with her already . I know this and I bear it. I feel that I shall bear it for all my days.

For all his days, he says—he’ll go to his grave loving Cathy and that’s the tea. But right now she’s hurting, and she more or less keeps to her bed:

He did not ask if I was going to leave the room or when; he recognized this childish habit already. I had done it after the funeral of Catherine Helstone’s sister when I was seven and a half, then again for a while after her father’s. I remembered counting the threads in the quilt, willing my world to be just that warm, soft embrace. He had taken care of me then … He still gazed at me in hunger when he thought I wasn’t looking. I yearned for that closeness, that reality, but I could not bring myself to deserve it. Day after day, I ate because he bid me to.

He has looked after her in her grief before and he does so again now. She spends the next few chapters avoiding his name and referring to him as “Catherine Helstone’s brother.” What jolts her out of her funk is, one day they crawl into the belly of a beached whale and catalogue the wonders contained therein. It’s an adventure, and she doesn’t initially go willingly:

Deaf to my protests, he had gathered me into his arms, deposited me onto the floor and proceeded to roll my outdoor stocking onto my feet. Despite my squirming and kicking, he persevered.

Lmao this is peak sibling interaction. Once they’re inside the belly of the beast, of course, it turns into something else:

He was standing very close to me and all at once I was all too aware of him. I forgot why I was fighting so hard to put aside our attraction, forgot all the reasons I gave myself for why I shouldn’t. Each memory seemed to lead me inexorably to this point where I was standing before him, slightly too close and far too afraid. I had not wanted to give name to this passion, not wanted to acknowledge it. I could have gone to my grave not knowing why I felt this ache whenever I saw Catherine Hailstone’s brother. I could have passed this life blind of my own longing and ignorant to his. I could have … He was simply there, too close, too real and too beautiful.

So OF COURSE they tumble into bed in Cathy’s tower room amidst their scribbled notes (they’re working on translating the Bible because “the mother tongue is the best missionary”) and the ink is blotted onto Cathy’s skin holy shit how appropriate is that. All those Greek and Latin texts they pored over as kids, the sermons he practiced on her, all of that was leading up to this: Cathy Helstone, the wife and helpmeet that Reverend Helstone DESERVES. I am strongly put in mind of two other stories stop for a second and hear me out: (1) Pygmalion, the tale of the sculptor who falls in love with his own creation and brings her to life and (2) Tam Lin, the ballad about a fellow who’s abducted by the Faerie Queen and whose ladylove rescues him through sheer grit and pluck—her trial is to hold onto him and not let go while he transforms into every dangerous beast under the sun. In the beginning it seemed like Laon = Tam Lin but now it’s Cathy who’s fallen into the Faerie Queen’s clutches.

we lay curled up against each other like the working dogs used to by the fire. He looked over at me and with a lazy, contented smile on his lips, he said, “Cathy—“

”Don’t call me that,” I said, cutting him short. Panic welled up at the back of my throat at that name. “I’m not —“

”Cathy,” he said again, pressing his face against the curve of my neck. I felt his warm breath upon my skin and giddy pleasure spread from those lips; I calmed. “Let the other be Catherine. And you can be Cathy. You will always be my Cathy and you will always be my sister.” I raised an eyebrow at that, and he had the decency to look sheepish. “And other things, true,” he said. “But either way, you shouldn’t think of yourself as less real. And I do have to call you something.”

”I’m not real.”

”You feel real to me.”

I love how her being “other things” to him doesn’t in any way negate her being his sister. Lord, that “you feel real to me” is everythinggggggg. At the same time I can’t blame Cathy for being assailed by doubt:

”it’s possible that no memory before I set foot on fae soil is real … I can’t trust my own mind.”

”I know my sister like I know my own mind. I would know if you —“

”You thought I was an illusion created by the mists to torment you.”

”I had imagined you so many times … I knew I had to leave, I wanted you too much … So, believe me. I did not doubt you because you are not who I know you to be. I doubted you because of my own weakness. You are the sister I are up with, the sister I have loved and love now. And that’s all that matters.”

Laon goes as far as to try to obtain receipts to prove her realness: They attend a Goblin Market where everything is for sale—for a price. He offers to sell an arm, a leg, a lung and an eye in exchange for Cathy’s memories??? It’s half of him for half her soul, I guess. Find yourself a man who looks at you the way Laon Helstone looks at his sister:

”Cathy, I love you.” Unlike his earlier declarations, he said it quite plainly as though it were an observation about the weather … “I’ve loved you, adored you, desired you for as long as I remember … As a sister, as a lover, it doesn’t matter … You doubt the truth of your mind and your memories, and if this can give you answers … Then I’m willing to pay the asking price for that.”

This speech absolutely melted me. She talks him down from selling an arm for her soul, but I mean, as far as God’s concerned the way she feels about Laon skates perilously close to idolatry:

For all that we had the books of our faith before us, he stood between me and every impulse of religion, even as he reached out to me with the promise of intercessory grace, he eclipsed such hopes of heaven. I had made an idol of him, and for all my excuses that this but a return to the childish hero worship I had once had for him, this went deeper. When he clasped his hand around mine in prayer, when I knelt before him, I thought not of God, that Lord of Hosts, nor of Jesus, the Redeemer, but of him, simply and eternally.

So to recap: Laon and Cathy are holding onto each other for dear life in this godforsaken hellscape of a ruined castle-manor where the weather has to be summoned with arcane spells and the flowers, instead of thriving or wilting naturally, have to be individually painted with the change of seasons. Come to find out, they are literally in hell. Not purgatory, hell itself. Which would explain how all Laon’s proselytizing has amounted to one (1) successful convert. That’s a piss poor track record by any metric. And their lone convert didn’t even accept Jesus Christ as his savior on Laon’s watch. It happened when the other guy, Reverend Hale, was here. What happened was Reverend Hale’s wife decided to take her Communion bread unsalted, and was promptly CONDEMNED TO HELL FOR ETERNITY because remember the first rule of Arcadia: Don’t eat anything unless you salt it. She is the madwoman in the attic, the “woman in black” that Cathy has caught glimpses of from time to time. It was an experiment designed to show that God’s grace extended even unto Arcadia. It didn’t work, but I guess anyone who witnessed this crazy stunt would have developed a newfound respect for humans and their faith. What this means is that the madwoman in the attic is not after all the original Catherine. She is not Laon Helstone’s sister, which was the working assumption of both Cathy and the reader up till now.

A fire breaks out in the kitchen. Cathy and Laon are unharmed by the conflagration. This is because in the house they are still protected by the geas — the one that is centered on Laon, the one that Cathy was told extended to her too because “Blood binds blood. And blood knows blood.” But the entire point of Cathy being a changeling is that she does not share Laon’s blood. Something doesn’t add up. A rider arrives with a letter. It’s dated months and months ago, from the London Missionary Society. Someone has been carrying on a correspondence with Reverend Helstone’s sister in their name, but it isn’t them, and they sure as hell did not sponsor Cathy’s passage to Arcadia. The truth hits Laon and Cathy at the same time:

My mouth was a grave of words, each thought dying there and it was their rot that I tasted, that filled me with gut-wrenching revulsion. He laughed, threw his head back and just laughed. His wide shoulders shook with his senseless mirth until his eyes too were filled with tears. “I thought you were an apparition to tempt me.” His beautiful mouth twisted cruel. “I thought the mist spat you out to make me sin, to pull me down, to drag me to hell. I thought I could outrun myself, my own sins, my own sister. I thought—“ “Laon, no …” I wasn’t sure what I was objecting to, but I wanted him to stop. I wanted myself to stop. “But they did better than that.” I flung myself at him, covered his lips with mine. Tear-stained hands cupping his face, it was not a kiss so much as a hard, stubborn meeting of lips. It needed to stop. Everything needed to stop, to silence. Gasping, he choked out, “You’re my sister.” My cheeks were against his face and my tears were his. We were broken mirrors of one another. “You’re my sister,” he said again. He did not push me away.

!!!!! SHE’S REALLY HIS SISTER AFTER ALL NOT A CHANGELING IT WAS ALL PART OF THE FAERIE QUEEN’S PLAN!!!! Here she is confirming it:

”My grand scheme.” She made a gesture towards the clockwork that framed her throne. “The sins that I have set in motion, the gift that I have given you. Had I not summoned you to Arcadia, would you have seen these wonders? Had I not placed into my own home, remade for your pleasure, would you have realized your love?”

And it wasn’t like she lied about it—the fae can’t lie, after all. That’s why they’re so deadly at weaponizing the truth. She just left a trail of breadcrumbs and let people (aka Ariel) draw their own conclusions, and spill those conclusions to Cathy. You have to admire how elegantly she sprung the trap. And certainly neither Laon nor Cathy appears to regret falling into each other’s arms. It’s just that once again Cathy’s whole world has been turned upside down:

There was an acidic taste at the back of my throat … Our love had been the last pure, real thing that I had clung to and it was slipping away … Every kiss, every caress that had passed between us came to the fore of my mind, now tainted by new, old knowledge.

Okay but you know here is what else Cathy has also said on the subject of forbidden knowledge (one of the oldest senses of the verb “to know” is to know someone biblically):

The world was made with words. If I looked hard enough, I could read those words still. They flowed in the veins of the world, written on their seams. They told me this tree would reach the heavens. They told me nothing was forbidden. They told me knowledge could not be a sin.

Being expelled from Eden was not altogether a bad deal for Adam and Eve. And we are talking Edenic parallels here, since it’s revealed one of the Faerie Queen’s names is Lilith, aka Adam’s first wife. When I was younger and thought myself very superior I was of the Phillip Pullman School of “it is better to know sin than to remain ignorant and innocent,” but it’s not that simple. Cathy and Laon came to Arcadia to save souls; now it looks like they’ve lost theirs. Laon has spent more than half his life wrestling with theology: he is a preacher, and singularly unsuited to doing anything else. I keep circling back to that image of words written on the seams of the world, and I think about Cathy’s waltz dream where she read her name on the book of Laon’s soul, and the masquerade ball before that where they encountered the too-close pair of siblings whose skin was actually branded with words??? Not tattoos actual words of fire. Cathy could only kind-of read them, not being fluent in the Arcadian tongue. Cathy and Laon have spent half this novel translating scripture. Words are the building blocks of reality. If you notice in the passage where she finds out they’ve been sinning this whole time, it opens with “My mouth was a grave of words.” Anyway, Cathy is all to pieces because a person can only sustain so many blows to their sense of self in quick succession:

Lantern in hand, I drifted through the castle, numb from new knowledge: I was human. I was in love with my brother. I was in hell.

She’d need time to process even one of those revelations, let alone all three at once. And in the end they decide to stay in Faerie and do missionary work together. Because, Cathy points out, if “the mother tongue is the best missionary” and here they are in Hell, it can only help their cause that they are both fluent in sin. GIRL, A+ LOGIC. If anyone wants to read a short (<2k) fic about Cathy and Laon embarking on the next chapter of their lives, I highly recommend this one, where the Author’s Note muses, “What's the biggest theologically-evocative Molotov cocktail I could throw in their path?” and the story goes with “Cathy gets pregnant” asddfggkgjgk.

Friends, I do not scruple to say that Jeannette Ng has written the perfect incest book for me. I still can’t believe it’s an unabashed love story. Where the main pairing is canon and also endgame. It all unfolds inexorably, and when I found out Cathy was a changeling it didn’t feel like a cop-out, unlike other stories where “they’re stepsiblings!” or “one of them’s adopted!” absolutely does feel like a cop-out. Because Cathy’s identity crisis is at the core of the story. When I found out she wasn’t a changeling that felt inevitable too. It’s just such a powerful meditation on memory, that most fallible of human faculties. It’s such a power move to saturate the narrative with memories of Cathy and Laon playing as children, and then reveal that even those fragments aren’t necessarily authentic:

We chased each other through the mists, like we were children again, playing on the moors … Was I imagining now how much i had relished his closeness then? Was it simply newfound desire that was igniting all past memories or had I always flushed warm under his gaze?

It’s unlikely had they remained in England they would have gotten together. The Fairie Queen had to pull out all the stops for this to be endgame. Can we all just ... RESPECT.

#cause of death #book review #under the pendulum sun

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